The red sun rose over Darthon as the new day started. Skips, the usual early bird of the gang, sat beside his tent. Picking up his valued battleaxe, he decided to sharpen it even more for an upgrade on damage. Taking out a small blade from his inventory bag, he began scraping one of the tips of his weapon. The slightly loud noise caused another one of the workers, Rigby, to wake up. Zipping down the entrance, he peeked into the outside world, where he only found the yeti working on his axe, to his relief. Seeing that the others weren't awake yet, the raccoon lied down again, taking a few minutes of extra sleep. At this moment, Mordecai snapped out of Dreamland. Yawning, he eyed his surroundings. All he saw was that everything was scarlet thanks to the aforementioned color of the sun. He shrugged it off, crawled to the entrance, and sat outside his tent. He noticed the still busy Skips as he did.
"G'morning, Skips." He blurted out, rubbing his eyes. The old man looked back at him and grunted, a smile on his face. He turned his attention to his work afterwards.
"Dang, the sun seems pretty ominous today. Looks like it was filled with blood, and not the good way." Mordo noted. Skippy nodded at this.
"Either it could be another acid storm, or that Darthon is trying to mess with us again with his hyperactive imagination. Heh, who knows?" The latter commented. He finished sharpening the tip, so he turned to the other one next. Mordecai nodded, pursing his lips.
"I hope it's the second one. I won't mind kicking ass and pissing off Darfag even more." The blue jay chuckled, which made his comrade snicker as well.
"Yeah, tell me about it."
After that sentence, a cool wind blew over their small camp. The two piped down at this unusual occurence as a result. They were quiet for so long, they failed to notice that it's nearly time to prepare breakfast. Thankfully, Mordecai remembered this at the last second. Thinking of what the meal is, he shrugged and decided to spawn sixteen ham-and-egg sandwiches, obviously 2 per worker, using his imagination. He wrapped all of them in clear plastic food wrappers, plopped them down one-by-one in a bag, and waited for the other sleepyheads to wake up.
The sun has rose even higher that morning when the rest of the group woke up from their dreamful slumber. After opening the bag, Mordecai passed two sandwiches to each comrade for a simple breakfast. Although it were just ham and eggs covered by two layers of bread, the workers were delightfully filled. As they finished the morning meal with water, they packed up the camp, geared up for the anticipated gauntlet crescendo, and travelled further to the horizon.
"Darthon better be ready for tomorrow. I can't wait to see the look on his face after we take him down like a skinny kid in gym class." Muscle Man bragged, flexing his arms and body as they walked.
However, after hours of walking, not a single foe appeared in sight. At first, the posse were still having their chin high. They immediately assumed that Darthon, just like what Skips warned, was fucking with them. Well let him try! We are not backing down from him!, they all thought. Grinning, the clique continued transversing through the desert without much care.
"Tch, stop your shenanigans, Barfton! Come out here and fight us like a real man, you pussy!" Rigby challenged, cracking his knuckles. Just then, they noticed that they passed by the same burnt-looking cactus three times already. Gaining slight suspicions, they carried on to their expedition.
Even more hours has passed, and still it was just them journeying to nowhere and passing by the cactus over and over (and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over). At this point, they were beginning to lose hope. Trying to keep their spirits up, they walked around, but it seemed like they were travelling in circles. This went on until high noon arrived. That was enough to wipe everyone out, with them dropping to the ground heavily and panting for breath. Unexpectedly, waves of zombie-looking creatures swarmed them entirely, ready to eat their brains out alive. The booming laugh of Darthon echoed out everywhete.
"It worked! My grand scheme worked! Now prepare to say your goodbyes, foolish mortals!" He merrily cheered, followed by even more laughter.
"You... You asswipe..." Thomas muttered under his breath, looking like he showered in sweat. Trying to fight the fatigue, he gripped his Dragonblade with all his might.
"*pant* *pant* C-come on... Bring it on, you... You bastards!" he provoked. At the same time, Pops gained footing as well.
"Bad show... V-very bad show!" The lolliman whined, trying to aim an approaching zombie using his futuristic revolver. Squeezing the trigger, it missed the mindless being by inches, so it continued nearing.
"G... Goddamn you... Darthon..." Benson mumbled as he managed to force himself up in one knee. He then grabbed his bow and an arrow, and started looking for the closest z-man. Finally, one was taken down thanks to his tenacious accuracy. Just behind him, Mordecai carried himself up as well. Remembering that he was the only one who could use his imagination as a limited advantage, he had no choice but to use it.
"All of us gains full energy!" He yelled as loud as his exhaustion could allow him so. Instantly, the whole faction of workers glowed with a bright orange aura. When the dust had cleared, they were more active than ever. Irate that Darthon managed to pull a mean antic on them, the gang suited for battle.
"ATTACK!" Rigby battle cried, and onforth they charged to the mob surrounding them. Blood rained everywhere, innards went flying, and the sound of swords, axes, hammers, spells, and various weapons filled the barren realm as the guys faced the crescendo head-on. Slowly but gloriously, the horde was subtracted to almost half of them thanks to the workers' rage-fueled rampage.
"YOU JUST DON'T FUCK WITH THE WRONG DUDES, DOUCHEFAG!" Muscle Man accosted to the sky, smashing another unfortunate zombie's rotten head. The green man was angrier than ever, being able to pull off attacks he couldn't do before, such as a tornado-like attack and a jump that ends with a mighty downwards smash. It was a very thrilling sight to see the clique, who promised Benson that they'll never get angry again, be infuriated by a death-harbinging trick. Rigby, for one, is in a slash frenzy a la Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance, but using two daggers!
"These fleshbags are nothing more but a game of Fruit Ninja to me!" He snickered, slashing another z-man in half followed by a decapitation after that statement. Just adjacent to him was the hyped up Skips, who was swivelling his huge battleaxe around like a madman, though managing to bludgeon every wave coming at him. Careful not to miss even one individual to prevent becoming one of them, he treated them like they were just very thin twigs in a forest.
Just as half an hour had passed, the storm had settled. The ground was filled of cadavers of the already dead undead, hundreds of them headless or separated from their lower halves. However, the group was unscathed physically and energy-wise. Just then, the booming voice of Darthon was heard.
"Hmmm, good work, you nimrods. You managed to take down the thousands of zombies I sent unto you. But... They were just Level 1 foes, so it was no surprise you put them out of commission." He commented, slightly amused that the posse had defeated his mindless minions.
"Weeeell, how thoughtful of you to deliver such weaklings into battle then, you turd." Benson sarcastically retorted, gaining chuckles and agreements from the others.
"Oh, so you Neanderthals actually want more enemies, huh?" The puppetmaster inquired, diverted by their responses filled with vengeance.
"You bet your stinking ass, we do! Come on! We demand blood!" Fives answered. It was very rare for the cheerful ghost to be pissed off.
"Very well... I summon... drow rangers, minotaurs, Reptoids, and dark magic witches!"
At his order, black-robed archers, the aforementioned Greek mythology characters, reptile-looking aliens, and witches appeared right in front of them.
"Ha, is this all?" Pops, surprisingly, questioned. The group looked at him, bewildered at his sudden slyness. The giant-headed man walked to the front line of the gang. Spinning his revolvers around, he seemingly twisted a knob in the pistols.
"MAXIMUM POWER!" He shouted. Pulling his gun up, he rained hellfire on the opposing team, and it sure was an enthralling vision too! Who could imagine the gentle, nice, and innocent Pops be this bloodthirsty when pushed too far? He resumed shooting even when all of them were incapacitated, and later onwards, dead. It was a very joyous overkill for the cyborg cowboy. Sadly, all fun times has an end, and the guns' Overdrive gauge was depleted soon after. Pops didn't care, though. After blowing the pistols' holes in a taunting manner, he placed them in his holsters and adjusted his outlaw hat like a true badass.
"Gentlemen, welcome to my utopia of death." He joked, eyeing the very short-lived monsters in front of him. The others huddled around him swiftly, complimenting his kickass massacre.
"Wow, Pops! I never thought you could be that cool!" Rigby apprised, slapping him in the shoulder gleefully.
"I never thought you can pull off something more awesome than your tidal wave surfing in the Park lake!" Thomas recalled.
"That's really cool, bro. Even I can't do something that brutal!" Muscle Man admitted, giving the old man a high five afterwards.
"Ooh, thank you, my good men. I am truly flattered at your words." Pops gratified, laughing his usual cachinnation afterwards. Although cowboy Pops is one badass motherfucker, it's still good to have the cheerful him back.